From Yale to Jail

A thirty something Ivy Leaguer keeps the public aware of her opinions on things topical and struggles with multiple demons: alcohol, the law and remaining effortlessly hip in a changing world.

Friday, February 25, 2005

Rope Burn

Last weekend, my husband sold a lady a rope. On Tuesday, the police came by because she was reported missing. She had made her last purchase on her credit card there. Wednesday they found her abandoned car. Yesterday they found her hanging from a tree in Virginia. A suicide. She was 28.

My KGB Baby!

Am I the only one who thinks Vladimir Putin is sexy? He sizzles in a spy who loved me kind of way. Most little boys want to be firemen or doctors, but little Vladdie wanted to be a spy! And years before “perestroika” his dreams came true when he was recruited by the KGB. After the Russians decided they wanted to be like us, the KGB had to be even more on the "down low" and Vladdie went on to a university job before becoming involved in government posts. I read his book First Person sitting outside a cafe on Capitol Hill. I imagined Putin paying a state visit, and stopping in for a caramel macchiato two blocks from the Capitol. Our eyes meet, and later I am slipped a note...oh never mind...this was before I was married and on medication. I will just say that my fantasies about him were very dignified. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!

She's On That Stuff...

LOS ANGELES (Feb. 24) - Grammy-winning singer Whitney Houston got ill on an airliner bound for France and was taken Thursday to a Paris hospital for treatment of apparent food poisoning, her publicist said.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Before Winona was a thief

Watching Girl Interrupted. Reminds me of psych wards before insurance companies ruined the therapeutic milieu! When I was forced into my first psych ward as a freshman at Yale, the average stay was a month. Now insurance companies only want to authorize 4 days or so. Before, the patients had time to bond and form the wonderful camaraderie of mentally ill people further possessed of an "us versus them" mentality. In short, it put the "fun" in the funny farm! I have been hospitalized 20 times or so and only the first 8 times provided any entertainment of the kind in "Girl Interrupted". As a patient, you need a few days to get comfortable in your surroundings before you start manipulating the staff , fellow patients and their visitors. I was never really mean spirited...ok maybe I was. I convinced one schizophrenic male patient who for smelled of rotting eggs that I wanted to be his girlfriend and when his actual significant other visited, I taunted her with this information. I forget his name, but I remember Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. In the smoking lounge, one adolescent playing tough was telling everyone she would hurt herself if she could. I sniffed and said, "Well, when I need to cut myself at this hospital, I always use the light bulbs." She escaped with minor scratches. I was just trying to help.

I am 32 Flavors and Then Some...

"You might say we're a nation of picky eaters. Americans eat the same 14 to 18 dishes over and over, says Cary Neff, famed spa chef, author of "Conscious Cuisine" (Sourcebooks, 2004), and consultant to Jenny Craig. Typically, we eat the same breakfast, vary our lunches slightly and for dinner have about eight to 10 different meals every month."

My gut on this is that I have a more varied diet than 14 or 18 dishes...let's see! My list:

Yogurt

Cereal

Pizza

Pretzels

Smoothies

Salad

Zucchini

Hamburger Patties

Luncheon meat sandwiches

Spaghetti

Lasagna

Nachos

Cottage cheese

Quesadillas

Ice Cream

Green Beans

Spaghetti Squash

Asparagus

Soup

Cauliflower

Carrots

Canned fruit

Apples

Tangerines

Macaroni and Cheese

Whew, I know there must be more, but I have to admit around 18 it did get hard to list any new foods! I would love to see your items!

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Deus Ex Machina

There he is...The Purple One. I started French classes tonight so someone had to be in charge. I studied French for eight years but that was thirteen years ago. Back to the Barnster. He is wearing his wrap with faux fur trim I got him at Baby Gap. I have a very similar coat I wore when we took him to the Ritz Carlton for Thanksgiving Brunch. It is so touching when mother and son match. I have loved Barney since 1993 when I was in Alexandria, VA. I was living in a very expensive but stuck in the 70's effenciency I found once I lost my journalism internship with free housing. My psychiatrist introduced me to Zanax, so I popped pills all day, nodded, ate cream of asparagus out of the can and watched Barney three or four times a day. At night, I cought a cab into DC and lounged at hotel bars. I longed for a Barney to call my own. When I returned to my hometown of Dallas my father bought me one. I had to promise to get a job, but as soon as I swore I would, the next day we hopped in the car and went to the toy store! Vive le Barney!

Monday, February 21, 2005

Oh How Cute! An 11 year old Sadist!!!

This 11 year old girl loves spaghetti and pizza! Ah, and she also loves to set people on fire or hurt them in other ways! I was munching on my delicious diner of radishes and somehow found this. I really pray this is a joke. So much for parental supervision. She is ripe for cult conversion but so far she has no responses. I do not want to be the first. The police have enough reasons to look for me.

Hunter Thompson Kills Himself

DENVER Hunter S. Thompson, the counterculture literary figure who rode with the Hells Angels, famously chronicled the Nixon-McGovern presidential race and coined the term "gonzo journalism," committed suicide Sunday night at his secluded home outside Aspen, Colo., his son said. Thompson was 67.This is what I woke up to this morning, if you consider 2pm morning. He shot himself in the head. In my adolescence, I romanticized suicide, especially that of Marilyn Monroe. I took my first overdose of pills, a bottle of Tylenol, when I was twelve. Before I passed out, I remember going out on the front porch and looking at the gritty urban scape but also the trees and sky and feeling something like freedom. Since then I have overdosed countless times. But I'm still standing the little Elton John in my head is singing. It has been less than a year since I took an overdose but for me it feels like a blessedly long time. When I read the news about Mr. Thompson, my thoughts were that he was finally at peace and at least its not me.

"I hate to advocate weird chemicals, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone but they've always worked for me," Thompson said.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Donate Your Burberry Handbags to the Homeless!

It can't go on people. If you still happen to be carrying a Burberry bag bearing the famous Novacheck plaid, you must stop now. I am going to go ahead and apply the moratorium to the scarves, coats, hats and doggy bowls too. Let your pooch not be passe. I know that only applied to three or four or you. The rest of you retired your merchandise to the back of the closet months, or YEARS ago. I have not sported Burberry check in over two years. The only thing worse than carrying a Burberry bag is carrying a counterfeit Burberry bag. More than once I have been tempted to approach a challenged chickadee on the street, bar or restaurant and give her my address so she could pick up my Burberry and at least make a genuine mistake, instead of a cheap knock off faux pas. For the philanthropic inclined, I say let us not waste these purses of plaid. I have been inspired by PETA's work with the indigent, passing out donated fur coats to the homeless so that someone who is not rich can use them. This was done most recently here in DC, where 50 used pelts were given away at a shelter. PETA made sure every coat was damaged by paint or slices through the fur so that the homeless could not resell the coats. (READ:NO COATS FOR CRACK. Marion Berry might be lurking to party hardy!) So I say take out that Burberry and hand it to that homeless woman you ignore on the way to Starbucks every morning! Go ahead and play fairy god mother and add make it a goody bag. An apple, a sugar free Red Bull, perfume samples, tooth towels add that extra touch that say you care!

This blog is NOT about David Dellinger

Apparently in the 1990's he wrote a memoir with the title "From Yale to Jail: The Life Story of a Moral Dissenter." He is dead anyway. Died last year. I haven't been to jail in a while. I live in Washington DC and have never been a guest at one of their detention facilities. I do have a friendly relationship with local law enforcement though due to my husband's propensity for calling them when I get drunk and hit him over the head with jewelry boxes. It goes something like this...He calls. I calm down. They show up and ask me if I have taken my medication today and if I am not slurring too badly they commend me for only drinking a 12 pack of Coors Light instead of a case. Then I promise to behave and hubby takes the dog for a walk. This hasn't happened in months though. I have cut back on the drinking. In a month, I have only been drunk two times. Unfortunately, I am not doing my "controlled" drinking andjust downing a case. I somehow in the past few months became a vodka drinker again. In my florid minds eye, I am the plumper friend you never saw on 'Sex and the City". Strictly cosmos and flirtinis! However, according to the cruel queens in gay bars of Capitol Hill, I am not even a Desperate Housewife. Twice I was told my drinking companions felt they were in an episode of Roseanne. I hope they meant the episodes after her plastic surgery. Ah, vanity!